Chapter 285: The Forgotten City

Sunday. The north corner of St. Andrew's Cemetery.

The Public Works Department's dredging barges had been dragging the Black Trench for four days under the guise of "post-flood silt clearance."

The bones pulled from the muck filled several handcarts.

Checked against Old Biggs's register, eighty-seven bodies were matched with names.

Eighty-seven thin wooden coffins were lined up side by side, the smell of freshly turned earth masking the scent of quicklime.

This time, they wouldn't go into a lime pit.

Old Reverend Hawkins stood before the graves. He didn't read any Latin eulogies; he simply began to read the names.

"Thomas Reed."

"Home."

"William Hutchins."

"Home."

Many of the mothers who had sung on the embankment were there, black veils pinned to their hat brims.

Reed's wife stood in the third row, a folded gray-blue scarf cradled in her arm.

Richard pushed Mrs. MacNeil's wheelchair, stopping on the fringes of the crowd.

At the innermost headstone, a stonemason was using a piece of charcoal to draft a design.

The stone bore only one name: Lizzie.

No surname. She didn't have one in the register.

When the mason packed up his tools, Richard borrowed a piece of charcoal. He crouched down and drew a smiley face at the base of the stone.

It was crooked, copied from the one on her wrist.

"The rain will wash it away, sir," the mason warned.

"Then I'll draw it again." Richard handed back the charcoal. "Someone ought to touch it up every now and then anyway."

Mrs. MacNeil pinched a bit of salt from her leather case and sprinkled it over the fresh earth.

The wind blew in from the direction of the Black Trench.

A clean wind. There was nothing in it, and no one was counting.

The mass funeral for the fallen officers on the other side was officiated by Lieutenant Colonel Ord.

In the public cemetery behind Elizabeth Church, a row of fresh wooden markers stood on the slope.

Below the carved name on each marker was a line of small text.

"Died in the line of duty during industrial accident rescue."

Richard stood in the very back row.

Lieutenant Colonel Ord had sent the posthumous recognition application for Old Biggs's line-of-duty death to the Manchester headquarters.

Wentworth had signed the paperwork the day before he went to his death.

In the cause-of-death column, "cardiac arrest" was crossed out.

Beside it was Wentworth's handwriting and official seal: "Killed in action while investigating the Echo Society case."

Old Biggs and Lizzie were buried together. The headstone was small, with just one line on the front:

"William Bigelow, Coroner."

After the funeral ended, the mourners gradually dispersed.

He turned to leave as well, but stopped after a few steps.

A black cat had appeared at some point, sitting atop the headstone.

The cat lowered its head and gently licked the top of the stone.

Where its tongue had touched, a line of incredibly tiny text appeared on the stone:

"Disciple of Marie Viktorova, apprenticeship complete."

The black cat jumped down from the headstone and glanced at Richard.

"Meow."

"...Madam," Richard said, crouching down.

"Do you have any further instructions for me?"

"Just a few words."

Madam Marie's voice drifted through the cat from very far away.

"About the future of Briston."

Richard's breath caught.

The black cat leisurely licked its front paw.

"You've seen what Briston has been chewed down to."

"The Unresponsive Pit is sealed dead, the Anchor Network has collapsed, and the dead pinned underwater for over a decade have been released."

"The water in the Black Trench runs clear to the bottom, and all the old debts were burned clean by the fire lit by that Hearth."

"This city no longer holds any value to this side of the veil."

The cat looked up.

"It will be at least a decade before the weak point nurtures anything new."

"A place without value is a place no one fights over."

Richard fell silent for a moment.

"...You mean?"

"Whatever war burns across the Old Continent in the future, the fires on the mystical side will not reach Briston."

"It will be... forgotten by everyone." The black cat blinked its pure golden eyes.

"In a great war destined to scorch the Old Continent, being forgotten is safety itself."

Richard looked at the black cat. The heavy worry he had been carrying finally seemed to lift.

The black cat walked over to the cemetery's low wall and hopped onto it.

"Little Richard, I will be waiting for you in the Imperial Capital."

It jumped down the other side, melting into the shadows of the old cemetery.

............

On Monday, Richard visited the Coleman Household.

Coleman was sitting beneath the old maple tree in his backyard, wrapping a bandage around his left forearm.

The bandage was fresh.

Guarding an intersection in the North District that night, he had relied on sheer physical strength and the "Unresponsive" state to forcibly drag back three half-transmuted workers.

Seeing the injuries covering him, Richard finally made up his mind.

He pulled the long Silver Needle box out of his satchel.

Coleman's gaze dropped to the long box, and he paused.

"...You're going to stick me again?"

"No." Richard rested the long box on the chair's cracked wooden armrest.

He hesitated briefly before voicing what he had been planning for days.

"Coleman, I want to teach you [Moon Nail: Reflection]."

Coleman's hand stopped wrapping the bandage.

"...Teach me?"

"Yeah."

"Before, I was sticking you every few days."

"From now on, you'll stick yourself."

The wind rustled the maple leaves in the backyard.

Coleman lowered his head to look at his bandaged left arm.

"I'm going to be living in the Imperial Capital permanently. I can't come back every few days to treat you."

"Besides..." Richard paused.

"It's your own circuit. You know best where it's blocked and where it's loose.

"Doing it yourself will be more effective than having me do it."

Coleman remained silent.

He lifted his left arm from his knee, clenched his fist, and relaxed it.

"A Spell Formula that can repair your own circuit... that's the kind of thing passed down as a family heirloom."

"You're really just going to teach me?"

Richard smiled. "We're friends. I couldn't just abandon you halfway through your treatment."

"Unless you want to follow me to the Imperial Capital?"

Coleman looked away and wiped a hand over his face.

Afterward, without saying a word, he turned and walked into the house.

Richard sat on a half-chopped wooden stump and waited.

After a long while, Coleman returned.

He was carrying two things.

One was an old cloth pouch.

The pouch was bulging, its mouth tied tightly with hemp rope in multiple knots.

The other was a dark gray metal token, about the size of a thumb.

The profile of a bull was engraved on it, its horns curving in a very distinct way.

Coleman shoved the cloth pouch into Richard's hands first.

"Take this."

Richard squeezed it. Whatever was inside clinked together.

"...What is this?"

"Money," Coleman said.

"I started saving when I was thirteen. I've saved for four years—thirteen pounds and a few shillings in total."

"I don't have anything else to give you."

Coleman stared him in the eye:

"The Imperial Capital is expensive. An out-of-town student like you needs extra cash in your pocket just to have some backbone."

Gripping the heavy pouch, Richard was speechless for a long time.

"This is for you too."

Coleman held out the bull-engraved metal token.

Richard took it and swept it with his Spirit Vision.

A wisp of ether lay dormant inside the token.

"Is this a supernatural item?"

"Not quite. It only counts as an alchemical item," Coleman said.

"Our squad took first place in the wilderness training course, and the instructor gave one to each of us."

"It's called a 'Bull Horn.' It enhances ether bursts."

Coleman rubbed his hands together. "My circuit is broken. It's a waste in my hands."

"...Coleman." Richard stood up.

"Yeah."

"I'll take half the money."

"Take it all."

"Half." Richard was insistent.

"You keep the other half. You'll need money to treat your circuit and practice the Spell Formula."

"If you give it all to me, you won't even be able to afford a bottle of alcohol when you practice the Spell Formula.

"What would be the point of me teaching it to you then?"

Coleman glared at him for a moment.

"...Fine," he compromised. "Half."

"I'll accept the supernatural item." Richard pocketed the Bull Horn.

"Once I'm settled in the Imperial Capital, practice it as I showed you. Write me a letter if there's anything you don't understand."

"...Alright." Coleman nodded firmly.

For the rest of the time, Richard demonstrated the Moon Nail's Needle Reception, Breath Guiding, and Needle Piercing from start to finish, over and over again.

Coleman studied with intense focus.

Richard instructed:

"Once your circuit is mostly healed and you can stably condense ether, you should be able to master the Moon Nail in one go.

"Your throwing technique is already better than mine. You just need to perfect the ether Needle Piercing.

"The reversal condition requires reaching a certain level of mastery. Just practice until you're proficient, and you'll naturally cross the threshold."

Before leaving, Richard left a few Silver Needles from the long box for Coleman.

"Use these for now. Later, you can go to the Civilian Guild and buy some that suit your grip."

"...Yeah."

The two walked from the backyard to the front gate.

"Richard," Coleman called out at the gate.

"Once I've mastered this Spell Formula and nursed my circuit back to health..."

"I'll come find you in the Imperial Capital."

Richard blinked in surprise.

"Find me?"

"Yes." There was a fire in Coleman's eyes.

"I don't want to be stuck in Briston for the rest of my life either."

"When my treatment is mostly done, I'll go to the military academy to re-enroll on the roster. I might even be able to get a job in the capital."

"When that time comes, you have to buy me a drink."

"I will," Richard smiled. "I'll buy you a drink at the Royal Grand Hotel."

"...The Royal Grand Hotel?" Coleman gaped. "How much is a single glass there?"

"Expensive, of course," Richard said. "But I can afford it."

"Then it's a deal." Coleman firmly bumped fists with Richard.

"See you in the Imperial Capital."

"See you in the Imperial Capital."